


From outside within

by apathyinreverie



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, Geralt is Ciri's godfather, M/M, Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pining, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23304982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apathyinreverie/pseuds/apathyinreverie
Summary: Where Geralt is feared throughout the business world and Jaskier is a famous musician who just can't help but write songs about the ridiculously hot guy living a floor above him.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 79
Kudos: 334





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier leans back against the wall of the elevator, watches the little number indicator climbing steadily, eagerly waiting for it to reach the floor of his apartment.

He's so looking forward to being back home again.

He has been gone for several weeks, touring the country with his band. And, _good lord_ , has he missed his condo in New York.

As soon as the doors slide apart, Jaskier is stepping out of the elevator into the hallway on his floor of the rather fancy high-rise he lives in these days.

It's one of those exclusive, stupidly fancy places that only the really rich and really famous can ever dream to be able to afford, with an actual lobby on the ground floor and a doorman and an entire security team to prevent anyone who _doesn't_ live here from just wandering inside. Not to even mention the two restaurants just in their building, or the cafe, or the gym, or the swimming pool...

It's exactly the sort of place Jaskier never imagined himself living at. Nor had he ever wanted to. Sure, it's incredibly nice, but it's also honestly far too fancy for his taste.

However, once his music took off, he quickly learned that living in a normal part of town, in a normal sort of building, surrounded by normal sort of people simply wasn't an option any longer. At least not if he didn't want to get mobbed by the press every time he so much as went out for groceries, or if he didn't want his apartment regularly broken into by some of his more rabid fans.

So, after the second time of finding a complete stranger in his very-much-locked apartment, Jaskier had gone looking for a different place to live.

Admittedly, he kind of adores his condo now, has been living here for almost two years now. He loves the location, the view across Manhattan, loves his fully sound-isolated studio with the perfect room acoustics that he'd had set up before even moving in, the humongous windows letting in light from all sides.

Although, his favorite part of his entire apartment is probably the balcony. High up above the street, an incredible view, but not so high up that he'd feel like he were floating above it, still very much part of the city itself.

He tends to write most of his music out there, loves sitting outside and just playing around with ideas, trying different versions of songs he has already released, writing new lyrics, or even just strumming some random melodies that might come to mind.

It relaxes him like nothing else, and he long since learned that his muses much prefer the open air to being locked away in some studio somewhere. Creativity comes much easier to him while outside.

But he also needs the sounds of the city around himself, would honestly go mad without the sounds of city life surrounding him.

_And I certainly wouldn't ever manage to write anything if it were just me shut away in some quiet room somewhere._

If anything, he kind of lives off the sound of other people around him, needs the sounds of the city and life surrounding him, people laughing and cars honking and pedestrians yelling murder at each other in the street for no particular reason.

Or like the couple across the hall and their rather spirited and fairly regular fights that always seem to escalate into them throwing every single piece of breakable crockery they might own at the walls of their apartment. Or like the stock market guy a floor below who seems to be forever, screaming into his phone about some sale or another and the idiocy of whichever unlucky soul he might be yelling at currently. Or like that child that had been crying through most of the nights right before his tour in one of the condos above his, keeping Jaskier awake well into the night more than once. Or even the parties being thrown by various people in the building form time to time.

_Even despite the rather crappy music they tend to blast for the rest of the neighborhood to hear and oh-so-generously enjoy with them_.

But it's not like any of it bothers him all that much. Or, at all, really.

If anything, he thinks his building almost a little too quiet for his taste.

Sometimes he honestly misses his life from when he was still utterly ordinary, the life he had before his music took off, the simplicity of it, living amongst the chaos of ordinary city life, the hustle and bustle of people doing their thing and caring little about Jaskier's presence amongst them.

Then again, back then he'd also been literally starving for his art, had gone hungry quite a few times at the end of the month just so he'd be able to make his rent. Which, retrospective nostalgia aside, truly hadn't been much fun at all.

So, maybe he doesn't _really_ miss his life from before. At least not in its entirety.

He is actually rather incredibly grateful for the life he gets to live these days, getting to literally live off his music, doing the one thing he adores most in life for a living.

Finally, he reaches his apartment door, and he is just about to unlock it when he startles slightly at the sudden sound of shattering dishware against the door behind him, promptly followed by yelling voices.

Jaskier just rolls his eyes in honest - almost fond - exasperation. Seems like his neighbors are at it again.

_It's good to be back_ , he thinks cheerfully to himself.

He closes his apartment door behind himself, drops his bag to the floor in the entrance, a happy grin spreading over his face at the sight of his home.

_Alone at last_ , he thinks.

Don't get him wrong, he is generally a pretty social guy, likes being around other people, tends to prefer company over solitude. But he also likes to withdraw from the world sometimes, likes having a place where he can surround himself with nothing but the distant sounds of other people living their lives, where he can write his music, where he can be himself without his persona of Julian Pankratz, the world-famous singer with several Grammys to his name and an entire list of number one hits that keep topping the charts ever since his music really took off.

And - more importantly - he's been on the figurative road for weeks now, jetting from location to location, from one venue to the next, countless hotel rooms, all the while being constantly surrounded by a seemingly endless stream of people - his band, his manager, PR, security, fans, the press - vying for his attention, being shuttled around between concerts and afterparties and interviews and autograph sessions.

Over the past few weeks, he hasn't had so much as a single minute to just _be_.

He adores being on tour, loves meeting everyone who enjoys his music, loves talking to his fans or to the other artists that always stop by either for his concerts or the parties or even just to talk shop about some sort of collaboration.

Touring might honestly be one of his favorite parts about being a musician.

If only it weren't for the fact that 'being on the road' also always seems to mean that he won't get so much as a second just to himself, to sit down, to _create_. To write anything new that might have come to mind.

And after several weeks of this, his head is just so full of new ideas for new songs and half-thought-out melodies he's been dying to try them out, to give them form, breathe life into music and lyrics as they grow effortlessly together, merging seamlessly as they always seem to do once he has a guitar in his hand and a few quiet minutes to himself to let his inspiration take him where it may.

Sterile hotel rooms are sadly not conducive to creativity.

And he has been so incredibly looking forward to getting back home, to taking his guitar out to the balcony, to maybe figure out the chords for that one melody that he got stuck in his head at some point during the day, something entirely new and which has been dying to actually sound out on his guitar.

So, he barely takes the time for a quick shower to wash his travel off of himself, makes a quick call to order himself some takeout, so as to spare himself the hassle of having to deal with his depressingly empty fridge. And then he is already making his way over to where his guitar - his old, regular one, his baby, the one that has been with him ever since he started writing music - is leaning its stand by the wall, reaches for it eagerly, almost giddily makes his way out to his balcony.

He quickly settles in one of his wicker chairs outside and as he strikes the first chord, he sighs out in satisfied contentment, a smile tugging at his lips, feeling something in himself relax at finally being _home_.

And as he lets himself be surrounded by the sounds of the city, the noise from the street drifting up to him, cars honking and sirens blaring, the voices of other people sitting outside on their balconies just like Jaskier, laughing and talking and simply _being_ , finding himself in the exact sort of atmosphere he adores, his music flowing easily as the sounds of city life surround him..

A small voice at the back of his mind pipes up about how this is almost perfect, how the only thing that could possibly make this right here any _better_ were if there were someone here with him, if he had someone to share this with, someone waiting for him. Someone to notice his absence, to miss him while he is gone, to welcome him when he gets back.

_Someone to come home to._

* * *

Geralt leans his head back against the backrest of his lounge chair, staring up at the night sky stretching out above the terrace of his penthouse. Though he doesn't really register anything he is seeing, neither the clouds obscuring most of the sky nor the occasional star twinkling at him.

He is just so damn tired, exhausted even.

He’s been working on a takeover of yet another company, a process that is always rather time-consuming to prepare, requires an insane amount of maneuvering other people, reading the market and any developing trends or whatever else he can get his hands on in order to make the sale happen exactly as he wants it to.

Well, officially they are calling it a ‘merger’ - if only for politeness' sake - but, really, he’ll just be buying out the current owners and fold the business into his own company entirely, so it's very much a takeover in his own mind.

It's not even a particularly large company nor are its products particularly interesting. But they _do_ have excellent trading connections with South Korea.

And Renfri has been bugging him about wanting to get another foothold in Asia in addition to China and Japan where they are already pretty well-represented. And since she is not only his product manager but also has an uncanny ability for sniffing out where to best find gaps in the market for them to integrate themselves into, Geralt promptly made some inquiries, picked out a company that had the foothold they needed, and then went about acquiring it.

As he always does whenever one of his department heads points at something that will make things run just that little bit more smoothly at Witcher Inc., or something that will increase their revenue, or that will just let them branch into a new sector, or expand their workforce by adding yet another genius to Tea and Vea's R&D ducklings, or a particularly silver-tongued lawyer for Yen to terrorize and enthrall in equal measure, or some PR wiz to join Triss' conquest for world domination. Anything really.

Case in point, it’ll be the third company Geralt will buy out and integrate into Witcher Inc. in as many months. But at least this one is pretty tiny compared to the global titan his own company has turned into these days, so the integration should be relatively quick and easy.

Not like his people aren't used to at this point, seeing as he does this sort of thing fairly often.

He is _good_ at it. At finding businesses that have exactly what his company needs - be it a particular production line, access to some raw materials somewhere, a corner of the market he'd like to get into, or even just the location of one of their factories somewhere overseas - and then easily, smoothly maneuvering them into a corner until selling to him is their only options.

In the business world, he has become known for his tendency for simply taking over any companies that catch his eye, is feared for it even.

Not so much any workers who might find themselves switching employers after such a takeover, seeing as Witcher Inc. is actually known for its unusually elevated standards of employee benefits.

Well, Filavandrel and the rest of HR would absolutely have Geralt's head if he ever so much as thought of going down the path of some of the other global tech giants and their less-than-admirable 'everyone for themselves' policies where employee benefits are concerned.

But other business owners? Yeah, they aren't fans of Geralt in general.

He also couldn't care less.

And Witcher Inc. might have originally started out as a simple import/export business, mostly based on his contacts back from his military days. But these days it has grown into one of the true global tech giants, seemingly forever branching into new sectors, ever-expanding in size, employee count, and revenue. 

Well, keeping his company ever-growing also requires an insane amount of work, buying out competitors, never really standing still. Which suits him just fine, the mentality of forever pressing forward, pressing on.

That sort of maneuvering - making sure that he and his are always ahead of any competitors - takes a lot of time and work, not to even mention the ability and focus to predict the actions of every single player in the game ahead of time.

But he also kind of lives off it, is good at it, possibly _the best_ even, quite enjoys the intricacy of outmaneuvering everyone around them despite their best efforts of keeping up with him.

Witcher Inc. is his life.

Well, at least it usually is. Not so much right now, though.

Not since the accident. Not since a drunk driver crashed his truck straight into Pavetta and Duny's limo. Not since two of Geralt’s closest friends ended up in a coma.

Not since Geralt has found himself taking care of Ciri, his four year old goddaughter.

Because his current exhaustion isn't so much due to his job of running a several-billion-dollar company. Neither is it due to the upcoming ‘merger’ they are planning to sign tomorrow.

He glances down.

Ciri is asleep on his chest, finally having cried herself to sleep, her small head of blonde curls resting just below his collarbone, tiny hands curled into his shirt, holding on with everything she has even in sleep.

It’s the only way she will even fall asleep anymore these days.

The past couple of weeks have been rough on her.

She misses her parents, doesn’t understand why she can’t go visit her mom and dad at the hospital, despite being told that her parents are only asleep right now. And Geralt can’t even blame her.

But how do you explain to a four-year-old that her parents were in a car crash, that both of them are in a coma, her father not even out of the woods yet, having been rushed into yet another emergency surgery just two days ago.

How do you explain the possibility that her parents might not ever wake up again to a child.

Ciri is too young to understand what’s going on. It makes no sense to her why _this_ time - after getting dropped off at her godfather's place by her parents, as usual whenever Pavetta and Duny attend one of those fancy galas that Geralt himself always does his best to avoid - is so different. Why she doesn't get to go back home or even get to see her parents.

But Geralt and Calanthe – as much as they might despise each other under normal circumstances – immediately agreed that Ciri should be spared the sight of her parents bruised and bandaged in a hospital bed. The child psychologist at the hospital had agreed as well, saying it would be better to keep Ciri away until her parents have at least outwardly healed again, are at least _recognizable_ to her once more. Maybe then, Geralt can take Ciri to see her parents.

And ever since, she has been staying with him.

Thankfully, she is quite used to staying over at his place, even for several days at a time. Mostly because - since Ciri started attending preschool - Pavetta and Duny prefer to spare their daughter the long flights and jetlags of the ever-changing timezones on their various business trips around the world.

So, Ciri does admittedly have an entire collection of toys here and even a room that might as well be hers, for all that Geralt calls it his second guest bedroom.

Still.

Despite knowing that Pavetta and Duny put him down as guardian in their will if anything were to ever happen to them - as implied by his title of godfather - and despite Ciri being used to staying with him, he'd still been honestly surprised that Calanthe hadn't put up more of a fight about keeping Ciri with her and Eist instead.

Instead, Calanthe has been spending most of her time since the accident at the hospital, taking care of her daughter and son-in-law, hounding medical personnel into giving them the best possible care, flying in specialists from all over the world. All the while running CINTRA, her multi-million company on the side.

Calanthe may be an utter bitch - in Geralt’s not-at-all-unbiased opinion - but no one can claim that she doesn’t love her family.

Well, she still absolutely loathes Geralt. Always has. A sentiment which he most certainly returns in full.

She is the exact sort of elitist harridan that Geralt can't stand to be around, and she in turn has never approved of Pavetta's friendship with him.

Maybe her original disapproval of him had been because he is a couple of years older than her daughter, or maybe because she originally thought Geralt might have designs on Pavetta herself as the heir of the CINTRA conglomerate, or maybe because he isn't one of those pseudo-highbred types Calanthe so likes to surround herself with. Or maybe her antagonism is just due to her not liking to be reminded of the simple fact that - in contrast to her having inherited her own empire - Geralt's fortune is pretty much entirely self-made, not to even mention that Witcher Inc. has long since outstripped CINTRA in size, value, and prestige. Several times over.

Either way, even after more than a decade of friendship between him and Pavetta, Calanthe still absolutely disapproves of Geralt's close relationship with several of her family members.

Thus, Geralt had been honestly surprised when Calanthe hadn’t put up any real fight about keeping Ciri with her and Eist while Pavetta and Duny are still in the hospital. He had even been grateful for it at the beginning, thinking everyone was just trying to keep the peace. But by now, her continuing, seemingly genial silence on the matter is honestly starting to nag at him.

Geralt certainly wouldn't put it past her to purposely leave him in the belief that everything is just fine, all the while planning something in the background to blindside him with later. No, he truly wouldn't put that past her at all.

He glances down when Ciri snuffles in her sleep, soothes a hand over her small back.

Ciri is usually fine during the day, used to staying with him and not really realizing that there is anything different about her parents’ absence right now compared to the norm. She is fine while her daily routine of going to preschool and the various activities her parents signed her up for holds up. She is even fine afterwards when Geralt picks her up and they spend their days doing something or other, keeping her busy. But at night? Once she realizes she won’t be going home _this time_ either? It’s been a struggle to get her to settle at all.

She snuffles again as soon as he stops the calming circles on her back, so he just keeps soothing her softly, until her quick breaths even out once more in deep sleep, even as her fingers remain wound into the fabric of his shirt. Like she is still afraid to let go.

And seeing her – his usually so sunshine-bright goddaughter – like _this_ , honestly tugs at every single soft spot Geralt has. He would do _anything_ _in his power_ to spare her any sort of additional pain in the future.

The thing is, anything Calanthe might be planning behind the scenes will likely include Geralt barely getting to see Ciri in the future. If at all. And that is just simply unacceptable. He feels a rather dark scowl forming on his face.

Ciri is precious to him. And there is no way he is going to let anyone take her from him without a fight.

So, if his instincts are yelling at him that Calanthe _is_ preparing something, then he is absolutely going to believe them. His intuition hasn’t led him wrong yet, has gotten him through his years in the military and many close calls that should have absolutely ended with him dead.

_Hm, there is an idea_ , he thinks, tilting his head slightly.

Maybe he should call Remus, ask him to check up on things. His old friend actually tends to use his position as Geralt's head of security to cheerfully justify his never-diminishing vigilance, always keeping his ear to the ground for some reason or other. It’s a habit still remaining from their military days, probably a little over the top these days, but his friend’s constant alertness still tends to not only soothe Remus’ own paranoia but also Geralt's. Nothing like knowing you have someone you can trust watching your back.

Either way, it will be easy for Remus to figure out whether Calanthe might be up to something, whether there is anything brewing at the horizon that might catch him unaware later on.

But. That will come tomorrow.

For now, Geralt just really needs to get a little bit of sleep, so he won’t nod off at his desk tomorrow, or worse, right in the middle of finalizing the deal of that merger he has been working on for several months now.

He sighs slightly. _Fuck_ , but he is tired.

Then, he is suddenly tilting his head slightly. Listening.

A familiar sound is drifting up to him from one of the floors below his. The sound of a guitar and someone softly singing, lyrics he can barely make out.

_Ah,_ he thinks to himself. _He's back_.

Well, the melody is new, unfamiliar, a song Geralt is fairly certain he hasn't heard before. But the sound itself remains familiar and as soothing as ever.

Geralt doesn't actually know who it is singing on one of the balconies below his terrace, but the first time he consciously took note of it was more than a year back at this point. By now, he has gotten quite familiar with the singing, sometimes even seeks it out specifically during the times of night he knows he will be most likely to hear it, on nights when sleep is just too far out of his reach, when solitude turns into loneliness, when thoughts of too many things lost haunt him, when memories turn into regrets.

And there is something about the singing that he finds incredibly soothing. Gentle guitar chords and a lilting voice, mixing with the sounds of the city from the street below, one sometimes drowning out the other, like a push-and-pull, their balance ever-changing.

Geralt feels his chest expand on a sigh, one hand on Ciri’s small back holding her securely in place, even as he closes his eyes, feeling something inside himself relax.

He's missed this, the soft voice singing somewhere below him, low and smooth and just slightly husky in a way that tells him it's definitely a man's voice but not much beyond that. And whoever it is has been gone for a few weeks and Geralt had already started to think they might have moved out of the building entirely or something along those lines. He's glad to find to be proven wrong.

He listens, eyes closed, as the chords change into something a little more familiar, a slightly melancholic song that he has listened to more often than he can count out this point. 

Geralt actually quite likes this song in particular.

Not that he has any idea what it’s called, had even been somewhat surprised when he heard a different version of it being played in some coffee shop last week, only then realizing that whoever is singing in one of the apartments below his is apparently covering popular songs from the radio. He still doesn't know why that fact had somehow honestly surprised him.

But, cover or not, it's still one of his favorites to listen to at night, whenever that lilting voice and the soft guitar notes float up to curl around him.

Like smoke twining through the air. Wistful and barely there, something ethereal, almost dreamlike about the way it is sometimes barely distinguishable from the sounds drifting up from the street below other times crystal clear, seeming to surround him on all sides.

Another sigh as he relaxes fully back into his chair, prepared to at least doze a little until he’ll carry Ciri to her room and settle her into her actual bed.

For now, he is rather content to remain here. To let himself relax into the sound of that lilting voice that always manages to soothe something in him.

_I missed this_ , he thinks to himself.

And then, barely awake, the last thought before he lets himself fully drift off.

_I'm glad he's back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this premise kind of came out of nowhere only to then get utterly stuck in my head. But I’m still not entirely sure about dragging them into a modern setting. If only because of the inherent lack of sword-wielding badassery :3 So, I figured, I’ll see what sort of response this gets and then decide whether I’ll continue this or not :)
> 
> Would absolutely love to know what you think :D


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt makes his way along the corridor, face drawn into a dark scowl as he leaves the meeting room where he just finalized this week’s merger behind to get to his office.

Now that that meeting is done with, he really can’t be bothered to school his features into an even somewhat genial façade any longer.

He entirely ignores how anyone he comes across in the corridor eyes him warily, every single one of them smoothly getting out of his way as he strides past them.

His employees know better than to actually fear his bad mood, know that no matter what has him so obviously pissed off right now, he won’t be taking it out on them. But they also know just how little patience he tends to have while angry, so they like to avoid pissing him off any further by bugging him with something or other whenever he is in a mood. And, well, he’s also been told more than once that he cuts a rather imposing figure whenever he is truly furious.

Like he is right now.

His teeth clench.

He got a call this morning. An old friend from way back, calling him, wanting to warn him about ‘ _someone_ ’ apparently having been poking around in Geralt’s past, asking around and talking to old acquaintances of his, obviously trying to dig up dirt on him.

He’d already known who that ‘someone’ was, but he’d still asked Remus to look into things for him. Who got back to him within barely a few hours with the not-so-surprising news that Geralt had apparently been right.

Calanthe, absolute bitch that she is, has indeed been planning something in the background.

Remus apparently didn’t even have to dig all that deep to find out what exactly that ‘something’ is.

Turns out – ever since barely days after Pavetta’s accident, ever since it became clear she wouldn’t be waking up right away – Calanthe has had an entire team of lawyers and PI’s and whoever else spend the past couple of weeks trying to build a case against Geralt, trying to make him out as an unfit guardian, clearly preparing to fight him for full custody of Ciri.

And Geralt is absolutely furious.

It seems, she has even already filed a couple of motions to prepare her case, at this point apparently only waiting for the doctors’ finaly assessment on the likelihood of Pavetta and Duny to wake from their medically induced coma.

He grits his teeth.

Because even if the worst should come to pass, even if they really had to figure out something for the long haul, Geralt had always assumed that he and Calanthe would work out some sort of deal between themselves, that they could be adult enough to look past how much they dislike each other and figure something out. For Ciri's sake.

Geralt as her godfather and intended guardian would never even consider keeping Ciri away from her family, wouldn’t have tried to restrict her grandmother’s part in Ciri’s life in any way. Something he knows full-well, Calanthe would not afford him in return.

God knows she’ll barely let him near Ciri if she were to actually get custody.

Not that he’s going to let that happen. No way.

He made a commitment when Pavetta and Duny asked him to be godfather to their daughter. And he fully intends to honor that promise.

His scowl darkens even as he finally nears his outer office.

At her desk, Sabrina glances up, takes one look at his face, and then promptly reaches for the phone on her desk, not even asking what exactly is going on and instead likely just proceeding to clear most of his afternoon for whatever has him in such a dark mood right now.

She’s somehow always been able to tell whenever Geralt is just generally pissed off at something or other, or whenever he is truly angry and making him deal with any more idiocy from other people on any given day might actually not be a good idea.

He knows she’ll cancel or reschedule any appointments or meetings he might still have on his agenda today, but he also knows there won’t be any complaints either. Because Sabrina will call whoever Geralt is supposed to meet, will smile guilelessly, all blond hair and blue eyes, and by the end of it, she’ll have the other party convinced that it was actually _their_ own idea to postpone the meeting in the first place and that they should really be grateful to her for reminding them of that intention.

She has always been a frighteningly efficient PA like that.

Geralt just nods to her as he strides past her desk, into his office and over to his desk, his next move already clear in his mind.

He is going to call Yennefer.

Yennefer who he’s had on retainer ever since he first met her. Yennefer who is absolutely terrifying in a courtroom, just her name striking fear into the hearts of anyone who has to go up against her.

She has yet to lose him a fight he had truly wanted to win.

Well, he also pays her rather handsomely for that assurance. Then again, Yennefer in a courtroom truly is worth her own weight in gold.

And then there is also the fact that Yennefer had declared herself Ciri’s honorary aunt _years_ ago, pretty much right after meeting Geralt’s goddaughter. Ciri adores her and Yennefer certainly won't appreciate anyone trying to take her access to the only person who - according to herself - 'doesn’t vex her to the point of near-murder on a regular basis' away. A list, Geralt knows he himself is very much included on, had been even back when Yennefer and him had still been kind-of-dating.

But the point is, with Yennefer on the case, Geralt won't actually have to worry about winning whatever fight regarding Ciri’s guardianship Calanthe is about to start with him, no matter how much time Calanthe’s lawyers might have already invested into preparing for it. Yennefer will rip her, her lawyers, and their entire case to shreds. Easily.

Yes, it’ll be best to simply let Yennefer handle that mess.

Well, he’ll also have to talk to Triss, give her a heads-up regarding the likely rather ugly PR mud-flinging contest Calanthe might start ahead of the possible custody battle. Just so Triss can prepare for the eventuality, batten down the hatches and maybe do a little digging for some ammunition of their own, or even get one of those really rather frightening media storms – that she so likes to sling at Geralt’s opponents – brewing. Just in case.

He reaches for his phone with a frown, mind running into several different directions.

Although, Yennefer first, everything else can come after.

+++

Jaskier knows he must look somewhat ridiculous right now, sinking into his seat in the café in his building, grinning rather stupidly into his mug of fresh coffee.

This café is rather nice, has excellent coffee, and he likes to come here from time to time, if only because being surrounded by other people – all of whom are far too convinced of their own importance to admit knowing him much less fawning over him, beyond sometimes claiming they want an autograph to give to ‘their niece’ or something – helps his inspiration sometimes.

Although, the reason why he is grinning is something else entirely.

Because, the café is currently playing one of his songs.

And no matter how long it’s been since his music truly took off, no matter how many Grammys he has on his shelves or how many of his songs have topped the charts at this point. Hearing one of his own songs on the radio still makes him inordinately giddy every single time.

He hopes he never loses it either, never loses that brief shot of adrenalin running through him when he hears the first chords of one of _his_ songs be played on the radio. Because, that is his _dream_ right there. His songs on the radio is all he ever dreamed off.

His grin widens as he takes another sip from his truly excellent coffee, sitting on the café’s terrace a few floors above the street, with a rather nice view, voices of other patrons chatting around him but the generously distributed and strategically placed potted plants – just high enough to hide anyone sitting down – between the tables giving at least an illusion of privacy to everyone enjoying the rather nice day outside.

 _Seriously, this is the life_ , he thinks, stretches contently in his seat, one hand on his guitar case next to him, subconsciously tapping out the rhythm to the new song he is currently working on, his lyrics notebook in front of him, scribbling away as he hums the new melody he came up with last night to himself.

He goes to take another sip from his coffee. Only to find it empty. He pouts into his mug for a second, before he heaves himself up with a sigh, fully intent on making his way over to the counter to get himself another heavenly concoction.

And just as he is about to round a particular set of potted plants on his way towards the counter, a random snippet of conversation catches his attention.

“Geralt, honestly,” he hears a woman’s voice say. “Stop scowling at the speakers like they did something to personally offend you.”

Jaskier blinks, rather abruptly shaken out of his sparkly, happy, my-life-is-perfect bubble. Because it’s still _his_ song playing right now. And so what if Jaskier has never really dealt all that well with people disliking any of his music.

“Hm,” he hears a man’s voice grunt in reply.

The woman sighs exasperatedly. “Come on, it’s a good song. I actually quite like it.”

And Jaskier wants to round the plants separating him from the talking couple and hug her. She clearly has the better music taste out of the two of them.

There is some rustling, like she might be shaking her head. “Really, how can something like a song bug you this much,” she adds on.

But then, to Jaskier’s surprise, a deep voice contradicts her.

“It _doesn’t_ , Triss.” And, Jesus, what a voice. All dark and gravelly and rough, more of a rumble-growl, sending something almost like a shiver over Jaskier’s skin. He kind of wants to _taste_ it. “I just prefer the acoustic version," the guy then adds on with a slight sigh of exasperation.

Which has Jaskier blinking in surprise. Because...

"There is an acoustic version of this song?" the woman asks, clearly surprised.

A question that Jaskier would very much like to echo. Because as far as he knows he never released anything of the sort.

But the man's voice just sounds so sure, assertive in a way that it honestly has Jaskier doubt himself for a second, honestly makes him try to think back whether he might have released an acoustic version of this particular song at some point and simply forgotten about it.

Though, he is fairly certain he hasn't. So, _what in the world is this guy talking about?_

"Hmm," the man just hums in apparent answer to the woman's question, but doesn’t reply beyond that. Just some rustling of papers coming from the same direction as their voices now.

And Jaskier just can't help but want to see the couple talking.

So, he takes a few steps further along the row of potted plants serving as a room divider, casually leans to the side so he can see around the greenery obscuring his sight.

He blinks, honestly surprised.

 _It’s him_ , he thinks _._

It's the guy he's seen in the lobby a couple of times. The insanely hot guy. The one who lives somewhere in Jaskier's building, most likely a floor above. The one Jaskier noticed pretty much within days of moving into the building.

The guy who is breathtakingly gorgeous, built like a brick wall, and either walks around in suits that are so perfectly tailored Jaskier would like to personally thank the man's tailor for blessing them all with the sight of those tantalizing hints at this man's body. Or leather pants and leather jacket, because _of course_ this man also has an absolute beauty of a motorcycle down in the garage that he only ever seems to take out on the weekends. Or clingy shorts and a sweat-soaked t-shirt, whenever he comes back from his nightly runs, fabric clinging to the muscles of his arms and chest, leaving very little to the imagination and reliably sending Jaskier's brain on vacation, strands of his white hair having freed themselves from that half-up-half-down hairstyle of his, stuck to his neck and making Jaskier think of _other_ activities that might end up with the man looking satisfied and slightly flushed and sweaty _just like that_...

Ahem.

So, yes, Jaskier has definitely noticed him before.

 _I mean, how could I not_ , he thinks, eyes dragging appreciatively over the way the man's dress shirt clings to him in all the right places even while sitting down, making it so wonderfully clear that none of the man's sheer mass is anything but pure, perfect muscle.

Every single time he's seen this guy, he looked so utterly, _unreasonably_ hot... Jaskier would kind of like to lick him.

 _Well, not just 'kind of'_ , he adds on cheerfully in his mind.

Now, if only this guy knew how to smile. As much as Jaskier can appreciate a truly fine specimen of man like this, his apparent rather surly attitude sees to it that Jaskier hasn't really been tempted to approach him, neither for a simple conversation nor for a little tumble in the sheets.

Jaskier sighs slightly as he pulls back again, withdraws behind the plants again before the couple can see him staring.

Because that’s another thing, the guy's ever-changing female company.

The elegant, dark-haired woman who radiates pure condescension at everything around her and somehow manages to scare Jaskier witless without ever so much as having spoken to her. Or the stunningly beautiful blonde who always seems to have the slightest smile tucked in at the corners of her mouth and comports herself in a way that honestly reminds Jaskier of royalty. Or the tomboyish one with the brown curls who seems to be forever grinning at something or other, eyes bright and almost freakishly observant. Or the one he is with right now, the one with a riot of dark curls who moves with an enviable sleek sort of grace, expression ever-cheerful as her eyes appear to be forever focused on her phone.

Apparently, the man has no particular type – at least not beyond ‘absolutely stunning’ – and instead simply enjoys his women as they come. Which, good for him.

Because all those women are so incredibly beautiful, Jaskier would actually _love_ to have any of them as his muse, his inspiration for his songs.

Well, at least he would, if the spot of 'muse' weren't already taken by tall-white-haired-and-breathtakingly-sexy himself.

Apparently-rather-broody-temperament or not, this man has unwittingly been the subject of several of his songs ever since Jaskier first saw him, especially some of the more raunchy ones. The ones that the media keeps speculating about, forever asking just who he might have been writing about.

Jaskier grins slightly to himself, finally turns to quickly move the last bit of distance towards the café’s counter.

Having an unwitting muse might be rather unusual, but this guy is just so ridiculously gorgeous, Jaskier quite simply can't help himself.

Not that this man actually has any idea. And seeing as there is no guarantee how he might react to finding himself the object of another guy’s songs, not to even mention that the man also looks like he would be able to flatten him with little to no effort, Jaskier would actually quite prefer if the guy never figures it out either.

Although… It's rather fitting that this song, which the man just claimed to at least generally like, _is_ in fact one that Jaskier actually wrote about him.

_Hm, maybe I could approach him after all. If only to inquire about this – nonexistent – acoustic version he apparently likes._

That seems like a reasonable excuse to talk to the man, right?

_And talking to him would at least let me hear that insanely hot voice of his again._

He grins slightly, something lascivious curling at the edges of his smile, already knowing that _that voice_ is not only going to make an appearance in his own dreams but also quite likely work itself into the lyrics of his next song. Because, like with everything else about this man, Jaskier simply won't be able to help himself.

His smirk widens. _Not that I am even going to really try._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been struggling to figure out their first meeting and this is kind of just the setup for them to then finally meet in the next chapter. 
> 
> Would love to know what you think :D
> 
> And thanks so much for all your lovely comments and kudos!!


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